My wife and I are visitors, tourists, not welcome or unwelcome. Sometimes the natives say hello–they wished us well after our wedding; they gave us some sparklers on the 4th of July; we gave them a case of beer–but just as often they do not. It’s like being in a photograph of the Civil War. The subject of the photo is perfectly still, surrounded by ethereal blur. Online, the Google Maps “street view” of this block shows the men downstairs sitting in front of their club. They sit there every warm day. These people are the map.

You won’t find another essay (story?) that jumps from street survival to server virtualization.